


An Occupational Hazard

by shamelord69



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Choking, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual, Pornhub comment tier dirty talk, Rape, Sexual Violence, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sticky, Vaginal Fingering, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelord69/pseuds/shamelord69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Impactor was an hour late for his appointment — not that this was any surprise to me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Occupational Hazard

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Rung's account of his evaluation of Impactor from the [hardcover extras of The Last Stand of the Wreckers](http://i.imgur.com/UyN7WNN.jpg). 
> 
> This is straight up an extremely explicit, violent rape fic. Please be mindful.

Impactor was an hour late for his appointment — not that this was any surprise to me. 

Even before they walked through my door, I knew more about my patients than they did; the Wreckers were a predictable sort, and Impactor was no exception. Each and every one of them was conspicuously individualistic, yet uniform in their pursuit of their idealized image of the perfect war hero; they struggled with authority; and most of all, they were eager to remind you that they were _the Wreckers_. The dead were beholden to no laws. 

That Impactor was being held in confinement and had no actual control over his own schedule would be no impediment to his efforts to communicate his lack of respect for me, I was sure. 

I confidently double booked Impactor’s session and was not disappointed. He and his armed escort showed up just as my last patient was leaving, but I don’t think he had the insight to catch what I had done. Instead, he merely offered me a smirk that I suppose was intended as some sort of mockery of contrite. “Sorry, Doctor…” his optics darted to the placard by my door. “Rong,” he said. “I had a little _medical emergency_ on my way over, and —” 

“It’s _Rung_ ,” I snittily corrected him, but quickly put on my brightest smile. “Please, why don’t you two come in and make yourselves comfortable? I have some energon, if you’d like.”

The guard silently assumed post by the door, while Impactor himself ambled into the room after me with a practiced swagger. Everything about his mannerisms was performative.

Impactor, plainly put, was large. He very nearly didn’t fit into the chair he chose to sit in — surely the couch could have accommodated him better, but it didn’t surprise me that he elected whatever option best emphasized his imposing mass. He managed to assume a casual, languid pose despite how awkwardly he was wedged into his seat. I didn’t dignify it with an acknowledgment; I simply took a seat across from him with a data pad and smiled. “So,” I began. “Why don’t we begin with something simple?”

Impactor gave me an upward tilt of his head. “Like what?”

“How about your name, where you’re from, what you d—”

“You already know all that,” he tersely cut in.

“I do.”

“ _Then why ask it?_ ” he growled.

I kept my expression level in the face of his aggression. “I’d like to establish a basic relationship with you, Impactor,” I said. “It’s rather unnerving for someone to know so many things about you that you haven’t shared with them of your own will, don’t you think?”

The look on his face verged on that of someone suffering cylindrical constipation. “But you already know, and I already know you know, so telling you some of it isn’t gonna make that not already a fact, and it sure ain’t gonna make me like it any more.”

I sighed. “Very well, then,” I conceded. “In that case, let me simply share with you what it is that I know. I know that your name is Impactor. I know that you were constructed cold. I know that you worked in the mines before the war, where you had a personal relationship with Megatron. I know you have a history of violence and extralegal activity. I know that you were recruited into the Wreckers under the leadership of Crest, and subsequently rose to become commander yourself. I know the official story of what happened on Pova, and that you were subsequently imprisoned on Garrus-9, where you are presently awaiting trial.” 

“That’s it?” he grunted.

“That’s it,” I lied. “You see, I only know Impactor-on-paper — I don’t know Impactor, the person. That’s what I intend to learn today.”

Impactor snorted derisively. I ignored the slight and continued. “Why don’t we talk ab—”

“Listen,” Impactor snarled. “I’m only here listening to this pretentious claptrap because I don’t got a choice. I don’t need —” He fished for an example he considered sufficiently ridiculous. “— _spark regression therapy_ to tell me why I get a buzz from fighting Decepticons, all right? So don’t we cut this nonsense short, and you write whatever it was you decided to write on my report card before I even walked in here?”

I could tell immediately that I was going to get nowhere with the guard in the room. I didn’t miss the fleeting glances that Impactor sent in his direction each time he offered his dry, dismissive responses. The Wrecker was terribly transparent. 

It seemed to surprise him when I stood up without a word and moved to address the guard by the door. I lowered my voice, but not so much I wasn’t sure Impactor could still hear.

“Ah, if you wouldn’t mind — do you think you could allow me to finish the session alone?” I delicately asked. “I’m simply afraid that your presence may be interfering with the accuracy of my psychological profile.“

The guardsman frowned. “With all respect, Doctor, Impactor is a high risk p—”

“Of course, I have been briefed — I assure you it won’t be a problem,” I said, smiling warmly. “If I need your help, you’ll be right outside the door, yes? I’m in no danger at all.”

I neglected to mention that my office was soundproof, but the guard seemed to be reluctantly coming around. “I’m not supposed to lea—”

“I won’t tell anyone. And if anything _does_ happen to me, I’ll see to it that you aren’t held responsible. I promise.”

“Well… all right. Just be sure to call for me if anything happens.”

“Of course! Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll be sure to put in a good word with your superiors.”

I got a little smile out of him as he left. 

I can’t say I wasn’t anticipating a physical altercation to occur, but I was surprised by how _promptly_ Impactor had me up against the wall. His good arm pressed down over my chest and neck, rendering me completely at his mercy. I could smell a faint hint of Engex on his breath, though he didn’t appear to be intoxicated at the moment. _How in the world did he get ahold of Engex?_

“ _Impactor_ —”

“ _Shut up,_ ” he snapped. His speech patterns were disjointed, maniacal — not an uncommon symptom of long periods of isolation. “Listen, quack, don’t think I don’t realize what you’re doing — I’m not stupid — I know what kind of — kind of _dirty slag_ the guys at the top are willing to pull — and if you think I’m going to just take it lying down — if you think you can try to stitch me up before I go to trial by —” He pointed to his own head with his right arm, evidently forgetting that there was no harpoon attached. “— by planting _ideas_ in my head —”

“Impactor —”

“I’m going to take _that toy_ —” He gestured threateningly with his phantom harpoon to the model of the Ark-1 mounted on my desk. “— and shove it up your rusty guttertramp frag-hole _thrusters first._ ”

The silence that settled upon us was so deafening I could practically hear the tiny droplets of oral solvent that had sprayed out of his mouth drip off my face. Instead of cowing in fear, as he undoubtedly expected, I simply stared blankly into his optics without resistance or any hint of intimidation. The seconds that ticked by each felt like their own little eternity, measurable only by discomforted twitches in Impactor’s face that someone untrained may not have spotted. I’d gone searching for faults, and found one on the first strike.

Impactor valiantly maintained his affectation of aggression, but the slight tremor in his lip as his tongue darted out to wet betrayed him. Impactor was more afraid than I was.

“Turn around,” he demanded, in a voice that surely wouldn’t have been audible had his lips not been inches from mine.

Impactor immediately sought the reaction in my eyes, staring at me expectantly. Whatever he wanted from my face, I refused to offer it; instead, I silently complied with his request, turning to press my chest against the wall.

I could no longer see him, but the apprehensive touch of his fingers on my hip communicated enough. After a tense moment of silence, Impactor found his voice. “Open your panel,” he said.

I did. Impactor jolted at the sound of my panel sliding open, and then I could feel the awkward stiffness of his frame behind me. I heard the faint sound of his mouth opening and closing. 

“You’re already wet,” he observed. Although his tone was carefully guarded with a deliberately affected bravado, I had a tuned enough audial to catch the tinge of intimidation behind his words. The chill of the air against my bared array seemed to confirm his assertion all the same. 

I can’t say that arousal had really been at the forefront of my brain module, but it didn’t surprise me that I’d had a physical response. It was to be expected, really. I wasn’t concerned.

I bit my lip when Impactor switched to pinning me against the wall with his harpoon-less forearm; he made a show of being rough, perhaps to compensate for his previous hesitance. The crushing pressure caused my frame to bear down uncomfortably on my spark casing.

“You think — you think guard boy out there is gonna come save you?” he said, forcing a fake laugh. “I wouldn’t count on it, doctor. See, that one’s a little hard of hearing — doesn’t like to go to his tuneups — and I figure this room’s pretty tight, right? Doubt he’s gonna hear you, even when I’m pounding you so hard this little box of yours breaks. Maybe he’ll come in and take his seconds once I’ve had my way with you — saw the way you were looking at him, slut —”

His other hand gracelessly fumbled its way between my legs, sliding messily through my accumulated lubricant. It was more difficult to keep my composure under this kind of touch; I shuttered my optics, gritted my teeth and balled my hands into fists against the wall as Impactor’s thick fingers slid back and forth between the folds of my array and over the sensitive node at the top of my valve.

“I’m going to _destroy_ you,” Impactor mumbled, his face dipped in by my neck. “I’m gonna frag you so hard — gonna fill you up and break you open and pick at all your parts just the way you do to us — you like that, yeah? That’s what you want, you little dirty slag, you cheap desperate whore — you disgusting — you — _ugh!_ ”

I allowed myself nothing but the indiscretion of a soft gasp when Impactor harshly drove a finger into my valve; he probably didn’t even hear it over the sound of his own engines, which were roaring in concert with the whirring of his overtaxed cooling fans. It really wasn’t a feat to be less composed than Impactor in that moment.

“I’m gonna — I’m gonna —” He really hadn’t thought what he was going to say through. He snarled in frustration as he raked his digit out and shoved it back in, adding a second long before I’d even had a chance to acclimate to the first — and he certainly didn’t allow me any further adjustment before he started to really frag me.

Impactor’s ministrations were clearly not intended to pleasure me. He slammed his fingers inside of me again and again, as hard as he could manage, aiming nowhere but _deeper, harder, faster._ Just two of his fingers stretched me to the point of pain, but it was nothing I couldn’t endure. I could sense his frustration when I offered him nothing in return but quiet acceptance.

It wasn’t as if the sensation was completely tortuous, either; whether he’d meant to or not, the sheer girth of his fingers inevitably stimulated the sensors in my valve. The pleasure felt a bit dulled beneath the burn of Impactor’s careless brutality, but it built all the same; I wondered whether I could successfully disguise an overload.

When it seemed likely Impactor wouldn’t notice, I allowed my spike to extend from its housing. The pressure behind my panel had gotten to be a bit much. It was a relief to let it free, even if the sensation of it being pinned against the wall instead only added to my mounting charge. 

I braced myself as I felt the edge near, and I must have had some sort of tell, because Impactor laughed maliciously as he practically punched into my valve. “Yeah, that’s right, _doc._ Come for me. Lemme feel that rusty cinch clench.“

Just like every other time, I followed his orders — and it turned out that I wasn’t quite so stony as to stay straightfaced through an overload. I wasn’t _that_ loud, thankfully, but I couldn’t help but cry out as the first waves of my climax took me; the rest of my dignity took a solid affront from the tremble of my thighs and the erratic spasms of my valve around Impactor’s fingers. His self-satisfied sniggering against my back didn’t help.

I hadn’t truly expected that to be the end of it, so it wasn’t too much of a shock when Impactor roughly hauled me up and then threw me down on top of my own desk, scattering my carefully organized documents and implements. What I didn’t send crashing to the ground, he hatefully knocked off the desk himself — I winced as I heard my model _Ark-1_ shatter on the floor. _Well, at least now he won’t be able to frag me with it._

I reflexively squirmed as Impactor forced my legs apart, and when he thrust himself between them, his spike fell heavily onto my abdomen. “You think you can take this, doc?” he smugly inquired, grinding himself against my open panel.

I didn’t answer his rhetorical question. I would obviously be _taking it_ whether I were physically capable of it or not. 

Impactor’s spike dwarfed my own, but for his frame size, it honestly wasn’t that large. It was thick, but it looked a bit short, visually. I took a mental note to jot that down for my personal records when I next had a chance.

While his spike may not have been proportionally notable, I was not so blessed with mass as Impactor. It certainly extended a considerable distance up _my_ body regardless. I merely counted myself lucky that I might be able to walk after this.

Impactor didn’t seem to know how to respond to the fact that I refused to say anything. “Scared?” he guessed, sliding himself between my lips. I locked my jaw and stared back in a prodigious display of temperance. “No?” he gathered. “Too shy to admit you want me to fill you up, doc? So excited you can’t speak?” 

I held firm. Impactor scowled, and gave up his attempts to tease me into playing his willing frag puppet.

I was certainly wet enough when Impactor pressed the broad head of his spike against the entrance of my valve, but his fingers hadn’t quite prepared me for his girth. I bit down as Impactor pressed in against my resistance anyway, with nothing resembling delicacy or care. My calipers strained painfully to accommodate his short, rough strokes, but he thrust hard enough and fast enough that it wasn’t long at all until he’d brute forced his way past my body’s limitations and sheathed himself flush against my panel.

It was difficult not to be awed by the apparent physical impossibility of our coupling, even despite the circumstances. I would never have imagined my equipment could have handled such a size differential — but there was the poof, right before my eyes, throbbing painfully between my legs. 

It was something else when he began to move. He took it slower than I expected, perhaps to savor the unfortunately uncontrollable flare of my optics — it occurred to me only then that my glasses had been knocked off at some point in the scuffle, which was oddly the first thing to make me feel truly self-conscious since I had begun to be raped. I wasn’t afforded much time to dwell on it, though, since Impactor had even less patience than sense. 

I winced as Impactor dug the fingers of his good hand into my hip to keep me steady and slam himself into me. I couldn’t help but sit up a bit to stare between my legs, which were spread as wide as my joints would allow, as Impactor’s spike managed to force itself into the furthest depths of my narrow array. I was startled by the sheer volume of lubrication I’d produced; Impactor’s spike was absolutely coated in my fluids, which allowed it to slide inside of me as if without friction. It certainly didn’t _feel_ that way.

I couldn’t deny that it was pleasurable. Impactor had no technique to speak of, but my array was crowded by stimulation and his own chassis heavily collided with my anterior node with a regular enough pace to begin building an unmistakeable charge. The sensation was indescribably overwhelming, and hiding that fact became increasingly difficult.

“C’mon, I know you wanna scream for me, baby,” Impactor mocked me. The grating infantilism was made worse by the fact it was true. “Let’s hear my name on those pretty lips, yeah?”

Impactor slapped me across the face, hard. It stung, and it disoriented me enough that I didn’t catch myself the next time he thrust into my ceiling node; my head fell back and I moaned in earnest. Impactor was grinning wildly.

“My spike feels good, huh?” He slapped me again. “You give it up so easy.” Slap. Thrust. “You were just waiting for someone to do this —” Slap. Thrust. “— give you what you _deserve_ —”

I finally cracked, to my own dismay; letting myself cry out freely seemed to motivate him to cease his attempts to rearrange my facial features, so I allowed him the humiliating victory. To say that the pleasured moans I released each time he slammed himself inside of me were egging him on would have been a phenomenal understatement. He was pretty far beyond intelligible sentences at this point — all I caught were little snippets about how beautiful I sounded, begging for his spike, or that how much of a dirty whore I was made him sick. I wasn’t far from weeping, honestly, and not even I was sure whether the response was physical or mental in origin.

Well, I’d been long overdue for another formal psych autoevaluation, anyway. 

One more slap and harsh roll of his hips and I reached my limit again. This time was much more intense than the last — I choked and sputtered as my valve seized around his spike, which was still thrusting into me brutally hard. Impactor was groaning more loudly than I was from the harsh contractions; his hand closed tightly, painfully around my neck as he fragged me through my overload.

Impactor’s own climax wasn’t far behind my own. I lay limp and spent and let him use me until he came with a theatrical thrust and roar, unloading a voluminous quantity of transfluid into my battered valve. He extracted himself with a sickening squelch as soon as he’d finished, and I felt a rush of biting air immediately fill the void of my blazingly overheated valve. I rolled over and clenched my legs shut in my discomfort. 

It was impossible to disguise how badly I was shaking. I fumbled for my glasses, and miraculously managed to find them and replace them on my face. When my gaze slowly made its way back to Impactor, he looked so superlatively awkward and uncomfortable that I might have felt bad for him had he not just finished violating me utterly.

“So,” I unsteadily began, once I’d managed to pull myself up to sit on the edge of my disheveled desk. “Do you feel good about what you’ve done?”

Impactor took a long time to consider his answer, and I looked to him patiently for his reply. “Not really,” he eventually concluded.

I pushed myself off of my desk, and picked my data pad up off where it had been knocked to the ground. “I think that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me this evening. Now, shall we move on?”


End file.
